


Early Admission

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a Lessons prequel, featuring Quinn and Adele (and Ben, by inference)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Early Admission

Title:          Early Admission

 

Authors:     [Red_921 (](mailto:darkredbeloved@Lady)[darkredbeloved@gmail.com](http://us.mc1620.mail.yahoo.com/mc/compose?to=darkredbeloved%40gmail.com)[) and Lady Saddlebred (](mailto:darkredbeloved@Lady)cdelapin[@yahoo.com](mailto:cdelapin@yahoo.com))

 

Archive:      yes, please

 

Category:    Qui/Obi, Qui/Other, Alternate Reality, Romance

 

Rating:        R

 

Series:        Lessons They Never Taught Me in School (archived)

 

Disclaimer: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing in the playground.

 

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie, _notre betas par excellence!_

Feedback:   please feed the hungry bunnies!

 

A small Lessons prequel

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn yawned and cracked an eye open, lazily contemplating the day ahead. Adele was curled up like an adorable kitten in the crook of his arm, blonde head snugged tightly against his shoulder. She seemed to fit there and Quinn smiled fondly as he watched her sleeping. At the foot of the bed, Cosette was wedged between their legs with her habitual assertion of territoriality.

 

He leaned over and nuzzled Adele’s cheek, breathing in the delicate perfume that lingered on her skin. She murmured in sleepy protest, then languorously stretched her arms overhead. Cosette crawled up his leg and planted herself imperiously in the middle of his chest, virtually nose to nose. Adele’s soft giggle echoed in his ear.

 

“ _Bonjour, mon cher,”_ she whispered.

 

“Good morning, _jolie_ ,” he responded, eyeing the Maltese effectively pinning him in place. “Do you think you might convince this overgrown powder puff to let me up?”

 

“I am sure if you asked nicely, she would grant you permission.” Adele smiled. "She merely wishes you to remember your place in her home.”

 

“I’m very much aware of my… ‘ _place_ ,’” Quinn replied, still trying to stare down the silky-haired anvil on his chest. “However, even the lowliest member of a royal household is permitted time away from his post to relieve himself, surely?” He raised a hand to move the little dog away and was met with a low growl and a brief glimpse of white teeth. “Oh, I am * ** _so_** * afraid, _petite._ I quiver in fear before your domination. Begone, you mangy beast!” Growls turned into a startled yelp as he scooped the animal up and deposited her unceremoniously on the satin coverlet next to her mistress. In one fluid movement he threw back the covers and rose from the bed before the dog had time to further react.

 

“Oh, _mon pauvre petite,_ did the big bad man frighten you? He has no appreciation for your sensitivities. We will have to teach him better manners, _n’est-ce pas_?” Adele crooned sympathetically to her pet, which crept into her arms and settled there, resolutely facing the empty side of the bed in an obvious protective posture.

 

“Bloody nuisance,” floated from the bathroom. “A complete and utter waste of space.”

 

“So you always say, _cheri._ Still, she takes up far less space than that great _cheval_ you adopted. I shudder to think of the havoc he will wreck on your lovely new home when he grows up.”

 

“Bernini is a * ** _real_** * dog, a man’s dog,” replied Quinn loftily, as he returned to the bedroom. “At least I don’t have to worry about stepping on him. And * ** _you_** * won’t have to worry about him making an _hors d’oeuvre_ of your fine silks and laces. Besides,” he added, moving to the window and peering out at the drizzling morning, “he’ll go perfectly with that overpriced antique carpet I let you talk me into for the living room.”

 

Adele smiled as she lay back against the pillows, enjoying the sight of her naked lover. Broad shoulders tapered to an almost absurdly slim waist and hips, with strongly muscled legs and a firm _derriere_ that would be the envy of many a younger man. Yes, Quinn was a splendid specimen. Fully half the student population was head over heels for him, yet he remained oblivious to all but the most transparent propositions.   The universe simply did not exist beyond his books and his beloved biology lab. _And me_ , she thought privately to herself.

 

It was common knowledge at the Academy that she and Quinn were an “ _item._ ” However, their associates would be surprised to know that physical intimacy was merely an occasional comfortable byproduct of a deep and abiding comraderie based on mutual respect and common interests. They had no secrets between them, but each zealously guarded the other’s privacy.

 

Adele amusedly tried to imagine Quinn’s ideal life partner. Intelligent, independent, but able to adapt to and handle his Type A personality. Quinn’s was an old soul, with an innate need to safeguard those for whom he cared. Woe to any who tried to harm those under his protection. A sense of humor was a must; Quinn loved nothing better than plucking someone’s last nerve. Physical characteristics were more elusive. Attractive, obviously, but things such as hair and eye color would not interest him as much as what lay underneath. Still…

 

Adele concentrated. Not blonde; she was blonde enough for him. Brunette, then, or maybe a redhead. Yes, a fiery redhead, with milky-white skin and blue- no, * ** _green_** * eyes. A face appeared in her mind. Perfect. Now she just needed to find a way to get them together.  

 

Turning from the window, Quinn walked, smiling, back to the bed. “Very well, _majesté,_ and what commands have you for your lowly servant _ce matin?”_ He leaned deliberately across Cosette and gave her a lingering kiss. The little dog growled softly at the intrusion and scrambled back to the foot of the bed.

 

Adele raised her arms and pulled him closer, murmuring contentedly. “It is raining?” she asked disingenuously when they broke apart.

 

“Mm hmm,” Quinn replied, nuzzling her hair.

 

“Then I suppose we must find means of entertaining ourselves indoors,” she said, grazing his back with her lacquered fingernails. “You could wallpaper the living room.”

 

“Boring.”

 

“Repaint the kitchen?”

 

“Menial labor.”

 

“Give Cosette her bath?”

 

“I could give * ** _you_** * a bath.” Wicked grin.

 

“ _C’est possible,_ ” she agreed composedly. “But _café_ first, _s’il vous plait._ ”

 

“But that would require venturing downstairs. Which would, presumably, necessitate first donning clothing. Now if you would only take my often repeated suggestion of keeping the fixings up here” – Quinn gestured vaguely -- “then I could make your coffee to your precise specifications and serve it to you _en chambre_.” He shammed utter dejection at his inability to satisfy her request.

 

“Ah, I see,” Adele murmured sympathetically. “Such a convenient excuse _._ However, under the circumstances I suppose we must make… other arrangements.” She slid out from under his arm and around him to her closet, where she drew on a silky peignoir. Quinn lolled against the padded headboard, ignoring Cosette, who pointedly moved to the opposite corner of the bed.

 

“I knew you’d see things my way, _jolie,_ ” he said smugly. “Tea, if you please _._ Darjeeling, with a sprinkle of nutmeg. And if you have some of those little blueberry muf- * ** _OOF!_** _*_ ” His ‘ _order_ ’ was abruptly cut off as Adele accurately launched a throw pillow at his midsection. Cosette dove for the floor and yapped indignantly, clearly blaming Quinn for upsetting her morning routine.

 

“Am I your servant then, to be ordered about in my own home?” Adele demanded, scooping up the resentful dog. “If you wish me to prepare _le_ _petit dejuner_ , you will be satisfied with what you are served. Which will be _café au lait_ and croissants. If that is not good enough for you, then you must venture out into the weather and provide a proper breakfast here. For all _* **three** * _of us.” Cosette added an emphatic snort of agreement from the safety of her arms. “Well? What is it to be, _monsieur?_ ”

 

Quinn grinned unrepentantly before the matching glares emanating from the foot of the bed. “Oh, very well, if you insist,” he drawled. “Croissants are marginally acceptable, I suppose. But I absolutely refuse to drink that sludge you call _café au lait.”_ He made a face. “No man would. Unless he was French.” He sighed dramatically at the injustice of the situation. “I suppose I’ll just have to forage for myself. Please tell me you at least have * ** _some_** * kind of tea in your cupboard.”

 

Adele smiled sweetly. “ _Bien sur,_ provided you have seen fit to supply it. Help yourself.” She swept grandly out of the room and descended the stairs with a triumphant laugh.

 

Quinn chuckled and dragged the bedclothes up against the morning chill. The pink-and-ivory ultra-feminine decor made his teeth itch, but he knew he had little say in the matter, even if his name was on the deed. His brownstone, like his new dog, would be a reflection of * ** _his_** * tastes. A soft thump on the far side of the bed told him Cosette had returned and he absently held out a hand to her. Daintily picking her way through the debris field, she stretched out next to him, detente restored in the absence of the disputed " _trophy_."

 

His mind drifted back to the scene outside the window. A lone figure, wrapped in an oversized plastic poncho, dodging passing cars and mud puddles with practiced agility. He had paused at the curb, as if debating which way to go, and Quinn had glimpsed thick reddish-brown hair plastered to a high forehead, full lips above a cleft chin. Clearly an adult, yet with an odd air of vulnerability that had tugged at Quinn’s heart.

 

The biologist automatically catalogued the athletic fluidity of the movements, while the art enthusiast praised the elegant proportion of the parts to the whole. He’d make a brilliant model for wee Professor Yodah’s ‘ _Drawing the Human Form_ ’ class. Images of that body artistically draped and lounging provocatively on a divan floated before Quinn’s tightly closed eyes, provoking a disturbing physical reaction. Not even the danger of being discovered was enough to overcome the sudden need for relief. Alert to any sound of Adele’s return, a hand furtively slid under the silk sheet…

 

His last cogent thought was that the young man had seemed oddly familiar.

 

_~end~_


End file.
